Sometimes Spanking is the Solution
by mimithereader
Summary: Sheriff Stilinski has had it up to here with his son's bullshit an overhearing his son asking a grieving girl if her dead boyfriend was a virgin - well, that's a lot to take in. Throw in Stiles having a hissy-fit that would rival any four-year-old's and John is just done. (Not incest)


John is no stranger to the uncouthness that is his son. But this – asking a girl who's boyfriend just died if he was a virgin – is a little bit far. Even for Stiles.

"_Have you completely lost your mind_?"

"Dad - "

"No. No, I don't want to hear it. Come on," John says sternly, gripping Stiles's bicep firmly and all but dragging his stumbling son out of the hospital.

"You don't understand," Stiles mutters under his breath halfheartedly when they are in the police cruiser and pulling out of the parking lot.

"You're right, Stiles, I _don't_ understand," John says earnestly because seriously what the _fuck_ had his kid been thinking? "I don't understand why – _how_ – you think that would ever possibly be an appropriate question to ask someone! Let alone a grieving girl! Are you that stupid?"

"You just don't understand," Stiles says again, though this time it's more of a brokenhearted whisper. John knows he shouldn't let that go. He knows he should try and look beneath the surface, try and find whatever it is that is so clearly bothering his son. It's what a good father would do. It's what he _should_ do. But right now his anger is like a tangible entity just beneath his skin, like an itch he is dying to scratch, and he is so tempted to just_ scream_ at Stiles that he has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to stop himself.

There's a thud from the passenger side of the car and John looks over to see Stiles has leaned his head against the window and crossed his arms. He has the same pout on his face that he's used since he was a toddler, the one with his lips pursed, eyes narrowed and eyebrows furrowed in the least threatening expression possible.

It would be cute if Stiles wasn't so damn infuriating.

The second they are inside their house and the front door has been slammed shut, Stiles heads straight for the stairs.

"And just where the hell do you think you're going, young man?" John says authoritatively. Stiles freezes but doesn't turn around. He knows he is in trouble, John only breaks out the cliché title like _young man_ when Stiles is really in for it. "What the hell were you _thinking_, Stiles?"

"Well, I thought I would ask a question and she would answer. It's typically how that, uh, situation goes."

_Always the smart mouth_, John thinks.

"Stiles, there was nothing _typical_ about you asking a girl if her boyfriend was a virgin." Or at least he hopes to God this isn't a typical situation for his son.

Stiles goes to walk away again and the tight grip John is trying to keep on his anger is quickly slipping. "Do _not_ walk away from me when I'm talking to you."

Stiles stills once again, but this time adds in an eye roll for dramatic flair.

"What were you possibly trying to get out of this, Stiles? You can't control your curiosity even when a kid just _died_?" And yeah, John knows Stiles isn't the most sensitive or tactful person, that empathy doesn't exactly come easy for his son, but this was certainly crossing some kind of line.

"I just wanted to know," Stiles answers nonchalantly with a bored expression on his face and John wonders, not for the first time, what the hell happened to the sweet little boy he thought he raised.

"Why did you want to know? What the hell does it matter?" Another eye roll for a response. John thought he had seen the last of those days when Stiles was fourteen. "God, Stiles. Your lack of self-preservation is going to put me in an early grave."

"You're overreacting."

" I'm over – I am not just going to stand by and watch you land your ass in jail because you can't stay out of the middle of things!"

"So look away. You've gotten pretty good at that over the years."

There's a moment of silence between the two.

"_Excuse me?"_

"Forget it."

"No. No, I'm not just going to _forget it. _Is that what you think?"

"Drop it."

"Answer me."

"Yes," Stiles shouts. "Yes, that's what I think. When you don't want to deal with something you just ignore it. You pretend it doesn't exist. You go on like there's nothing wrong, well, I'm sorry, that I don't make it super easy for you to just pretend you don't have a kid!"

"Are you even being serious right now?" John doesn't know where this is coming from, he really _really_ doesn't.

"Just fucking leave it," Stiles spits out.

"Language!"

"Oh _fuck_ off," Stiles says smugly and John thinks he must have entered a parallel dimension where suddenly his child is the actual spawn of Satan because this isn't Stiles. This isn't _his_ Stiles.

"You better check yourself, kid," John warns.

"I don't get why you're being so dramatic about this!" Stiles shouts and John wants to laugh at the irony of that statement.

"_I'm_ being dramatic? Stiles, you're the one throwing an honest to God _temper tantrum_!"

"I am _not_ throwing a tantrum_!_" Stiles yells, arms gesticulating wildly and doing absolutely nothing to prove his point.

"Stiles, you need to calm down, alright?" John says in a measure voice. He's about a hairsbreadth away from losing his composure as well, beyond fed up with all of his son's bullshit, but the last thing they need right now is the neighbors calling in a domestic dispute.

"I'm going to bed."

"No, no you're not. We're going to talk about this – _whatever_ this is."

"There's nothing to talk about," Stiles replies condescendingly.

"That's not for you to decide, you little brat," John says and he _almost _feels guilty for it. That is, until Stiles rolls his eyes again and scoffs. "You need to show a little respect here."

"Oh, yes sir," Stiles retorts sarcastically, mock-salute and all.

"Are you actively trying to get in more trouble here?"

"What are you going to do? Ground me? It's not like you're ever home anyway," Stiles says arrogantly and John knows Stiles is just being a little shit, but it _stings_. It stings because John knows Stiles is _right_.

"You know what, there is no point grounding you," John accedes and he lets that self-satisfied smirk contort his son's features for just a second before ripping it away with, "but if you insist on acting like a child, I will gladly treat you like one. Over my knee. Now," John says, taking a seat on the edge of the couch.

John watches Stiles's eyes get almost comically wide before he stutters out a, "…w-what?"

"If spanking you is the only way to get through to you because you want to act like a little brat, that's fine. Get over here. Now."

"You can't be serious," Stiles sneers.

"Do I sound like I'm joking to you, son?" John asks using his best _I'm-the-bad-cop-don't-even-try-to-cross-me _voice.

"You're crazy," Stiles says with a shake of his head. "I'm way too old to be _spanked_, don't you think?"

"Not when you insist on acting like a petulant three year old. Drop your jeans and underwear and get over here or I'll do it for you," John tells him determinedly because he'll be _damned_ if he lets Stiles get away with this shit.

"Hell no," Stiles grits out.

"Are we going to have to do this the hard way, then?" John asks.

"Yeah, I guess so," Stiles says with a slight laugh, already knowing he was going to regret this.

"I'm going to count from three," John says in the calm, considering way that always makes Stiles nervous. Stiles doesn't respond.

"Three."

Stiles holds his ground, but John can see the anxious tension in his shoulders as he crosses his arms.

"Believe me you don't want me to get to one," John says, trying to give Stiles an extra chance to just give in and accept his punishment. Stiles falters and shifts his feet, but doesn't take the bait.

"Two."

Stiles crosses his arms and stomps his foot like he used to do when he used to get frustrated in the pre-Adderall days.

"One."

Stiles doesn't even have time to effectively process what is happening before his dad has him bent over his knee with his pants and boxers yanked down. Stiles shouldn't be surprised that his dad was able to overpower him so easily, really. Stiles should have predicted this – his dad was trained to take people down. People much bigger and stronger than Stiles. It takes no effort really for his dad to get him to stop squirming with a strong left hand pinning his upper body down and an even stronger right hand coming down against his bare ass. _Hard_.

"Ow, dad, _really_!" Stiles tries even though he knows damn well that it is pointless. The only response he receives is another smack. "Dad!" Another smack. "I get it, okay?" Another smack. "Stop!" Another smack. "_Dad!"_ Another smack. "Oww" Another smack. "Dad.." He gives Stiles another three wince-inducing spanks and stops.

_Thank God _Stiles thinks as his dad tugs up his boxers for him. The fabric rubbing against his skin stings horribly and if Stiles wasn't already crying before that, he surely would be now. Stiles bites back his sobs as he tries to help his dad maneuver him into an upright position. Embarrassment begins to sink in and Stiles attempts to stand, but he barely makes it to his feet when he can no longer hold back his tears.

His dad gently pulls Stiles down to the couch and into his arms. Stiles cries steadily, the humiliation, pain, and the realization that he _really_ screwed up this time hitting him all at one. His dad rubs a hand down his spine until Stiles's sobs become fewer and farther between. A firm hand urges Stiles to lie down, pillowing his head in his dad's lap.

"Are you okay?" John asks when the tears finally stop.

"My ass hurts," Stiles answers, his words muffled because his face is pressed into his dad's thigh.

His dad chuckles slightly and rubs a hand over Stiles's backside, trying to soothe some of the ache. "Hey I will do this again if you act up. Nothing else has worked with you and I really am tired kid, so this is me laying down the law. I hate having to punish you, especially like this, but I will if I need to. Got it?"

"Got it," Stiles mumbles tiredly.

"Good. Don't make me have to do this again," John says, running his fingers through Stiles's hair.

"If it makes you feel better, she slapped me before you got there."

John laughs heartily before leaning down to press a kid to the side of his son's head. "I'm sure she did, kiddo."


End file.
